All That Remains
by lady mordred whochester holmes
Summary: After saving up enough cash to go to a con in the US, Eleanor can't wait to show off her Legolas cosplay and do England proud. However, witnessing the beginning of the zombie apocalypse wasn't exactly on the agenda for her holiday, and now she's fighting off dead people that want to want to eat her. It's a good thing she actually knows how to use that bow of hers. (Slow Daryl/OC)
1. Hairy Man-Baby

**So here is the first chapter of my first Walking Dead fic, All That Remains! I got the title from a line of Bastille's 'Skulls', which I recommend you listen to! I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I checked this thing like 100 times but if there _are_ any spelling/grammar mistakes, then let me know and I'll fix them!**

**Disclaimer: I'm only gonna do this once - I don't own anything you recognise, only my OC Eleanor and any other original characters.**

**I hope you like it, on with the show!**

* * *

"When all of our friends are dead and just a memory  
And we're side by side, it's always been just you and me  
For all to see.

"When our lives are over and all that remains  
Are our skulls and bones, let's take it to the grave,  
And hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms.  
I'll be buried here with you,  
And I'll hold in these hands  
_All that remains_."

**Skulls - Bastille**

* * *

It changes you.

The end of the world.

Makes you do things you wouldn't have normally done before it all went to shit.

Which is why, a month into the outbreak, I was standing behind an African-American man with an arrow aimed at the back of his head.

"What's this, a ranger caught off his guard?"

Trust me when I say that there is never a bad time for a Lord of The Rings quote, especially when you're going to mug a man for anything he has.

Like I said, the end of the world changes you and makes you do things you wouldn't have normally done before.

The man slowly raised his hands and turned his head to look at the one who could be the reason he would starve that night.

"Please," he said with calm in his eyes, which twitched to something behind the right of me.

My eyes widened and I spun around, quickly training my aim on a young boy that came out of nowhere holding a gun at my face.

A boy.

With a _gun_.

I shouldn't have been surprised, really. Not with the whole 'end of the world changes you' thing. But I couldn't hurt him, someone so young that was protecting a man who was clearly his father. Nevertheless, I kept my bowstring tight with the yellow feathers of the arrow-end tickling my cheek.

"I'm not looking to hurt you, I just want some food." I said, keeping my eyes on the father who took the kid's place at aiming the gun at me.

"You bit?"

"No."

"Scratched?"

"_No._"

A pause, and then, "Just you out here?"

"I've been on my own from the start." I answered, silently praying that maybe they were part of a group or knew how to get out of this bloody country. It was true though, ever since the plane lifted off from my home of London, I had been on my own.

"What's your name?"

"Eleanor." I answered. "My name's Eleanor."

The man looked me up and down. I knew that I didn't exactly look like I was starving.

"I'm big boned, okay?" I retorted, starting to gently loosen my bowstring, letting my arrow point at the ground. "How do I know you're not bit?"

"The fact that we ain't got a fever and we're not trying eat you." He countered, the barrel of his gun gradually lowering to the tarmac of the road.

"Fair point." I nodded my head to the side once before continuing, "So… about that food."

"Oh we got plenty!" The young boy blurted out eagerly with a nod, earning a reproaching look from his father. "Uhh, I mean, we ain't got no food."

I raised an eyebrow.

"We have _some_ food," the man corrected, looking back at me, "I s'pose… we could spare a couple a' cans."

A sigh of relief left me just as my stomach growled quietly. "Thank you, uh…"

"Morgan," he replied, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder, "and this is Duane, my son."

Morgan pushed his gun into his belt and I put my arrow back into its quiver.

"So, which way to the food?" I wasn't not usually this brusque, but I hadn't eaten properly since yesterday and all that I had was three strawberries. I don't even _like_ strawberries.

Morgan nodded down the road and begun to lead the way, Duane by his side as I trailed behind with a spring in my step. I was finally going to eat some proper food!

I followed them as we passed a few streets in silence, some Growlers littering the pathways, but we made sure to be quick and quiet. We finally made a turn down a street filled with white picket houses, but a few Growlers were scattered about the road. I nocked an arrow ready to free it on any undead that wanted to get too close to me.

Morgan told Duane to go around the back of the houses and make sure the way was clear. From where I was standing beside Duane, I inspected a small side alley that led behind the houses and it was obvious that there would be no undead there. Morgan must have been protecting his son by giving him false responsibility to make him more compliant to his father's orders. And that's what studying Psychology in college will get you.

"Take her with you." He instructed, giving a pat to his son's shoulder.

"Wait," My neck almost snapped with the speed that my head twisted around to look at Morgan with wide eyes, "What?"

"You've got those arrows, and there a hell of a lot quieter than any gun. I'm trusting you to protect my boy while you clear the way, alright?"

I just stared at him with my mouth opening and closing like a fish, watching as he didn't wait for an answer and continued walking down the street leaving me with Duane.

"So…" I said, turning to the kid and rocking on my heels. "I've got to protect your butt, huh?"

He smiled with a short giggle, which made my frown fade into near non-existence, and I followed him as he stepped into the alley.

As I predicted, the back path was completely empty. It was just wide enough for two people to walk side by side, and going by the metal rubbish bins that sat behind each house it was primarily used for garbage. Trees sheltered the path from the sun, and offered a cool relief from the sweltering Georgian heat as we picked our way through the fallen trash cans. As we neared the end, Duane wandered past me and picked up a shovel that was leaning against the back of the last house.

"That'll come in handy," I nodded towards it and Duane looked up at me hopefully.

"Think so?"

"Know so."

He smiled again as he looked at the new found weapon in his hands.

"C'mon, we should keep going or your dad is going to think I've done something to you and feed me to Growlers or something."

"Growlers?" Duane glanced at me again, taking a moment to think. "We call 'em Walkers."

"Walkers," I repeated with a single, approving nod, "I like it. C'mon."

With his new shovel in hand, Duane continued cautiously around the corner of the final house. When I got to see around the corner, a 'Walker' in a hospital patient's robe was perched on the steps leading up to the path of a house. It was weird. I had never seen them sitting down before.

Duane was already taking almost silent steps towards it with his shovel, so I let the kid go in for the kill. I'd shoot the thing if things got out of hand. He got right behind it until Duane stepped on a twig causing the Growler to turn its head around, only to get a mouthful of shovel with a sound _twang _that made the undead man fall back.

I snorted.

"Daddy, Daddy!" Duane yelled to Morgan who was making his way towards us.

"Carl…" The Walker murmured.

Wait…

_What?_

"Carl," it rasped again, gazing upwards, "I've found you."

"Daddy, I got this son of a bitch! I'm a' smack him dead!"

I have to say: I love this kid.

A bang rang out as Morgan shot a Walker heading towards him in the road, and he ran to us.

"He say something?" Morgan asked as he pushed Duane away from it. "I thought I heard him say something."

"He called me Carl."

"I thought they don't talk." I shook my head, arrow still nocked.

"They don't," Morgan said, "Hey mister, what's that bandage for?"

"Wha… What?" The man struggled to lift his head up, and a confused frown similar to my own furrowed his brows.

"What kind of wound?" Now Morgan had a gun aimed at the guy's head. Looks like I wasn't the only one who was going to have Morgan's gun in their face today. "You answer me, damn you. What's your wound?" Still no answer. "You tell me," Morgan cocked his gun and I shifted my feet uneasily. "Or I will kill you."

This is getting a tad extreme, but I'll roll with it.

Before he could answer, the man went cross eyed and fell back as he went unconscious, and I tried my best not to laugh at the sight.

Any mirth inside me soon dissipated away though when I learned I had to help Morgan drag the guy all the way back to the house that they were staying at a mile away.

Alright, it was more like three houses down the street - but it feels like a mile when you're attempting to carry a man who has a higher muscle to fat ratio than you and is easily six foot tall.

I loathed my stature at that moment, wishing that I was taller than the Martin Freeman height I was; it just made the job more difficult. The stairs were the worst part once we got to the two storey house though, and Duane had to help me carry his legs. Grunting, we laid him onto a bed in what looked like a spare room. Morgan went to a desk that was opposite the bed and came back with some strips of fabric and bandages.

"Eleanor," He began tying the man's wrists to the bedframe with the rags, "I need you to go downstairs and cook up some of the cans while I deal with him. Duane, help her out."

"Yes, Daddy."

Once again I apparently had no say in the matter, and once again I was trailing behind Duane as he led me to the kitchen, showing and telling me hurriedly how to work the cooking equipment that looked like it was normally used for camping trips. He was obviously curious about the man and itching to get back to his father.

"Just go upstairs, Duane," I said with a knowing smirk, "You're practically vibrating."

"Yes, ma'am." And off the kid went, bounding up the stairs to the other men. I browsed the cans of food that were available, picking one up before putting it down picking up another. But my mind was in a different place and, with my head tilted and my lips pressed together, I thought about the guy we had found.

He was wearing patients' garbs, was just sat outside the house like a sitting duck for Walkers, and had no shoes (nor underwear for that matter, which I knew thanks to the unfortunate angle of view I had as we carried him upstairs). It was as if he had missed the whole thing; slept through it or something.

Later I'd find that my speculations were _very_ accurate.

A creaking floorboard from the floor above shook me out of my thoughts, making me straighten my head. I set to completing my task, filling up the cooking pots with tins of whatever looked good. A couple of cans of baked beans did the job and soon the food was gradually heating up. I admit that I may have dipped my fingers in the pots and had a little taster while it was warming.

I was hungry, alright?

* * *

It wasn't too long until Morgan and Duane descended the stairs and took over the cooking. Morgan began dishing it up after handing me four bowls.. I placed two down on the table, gave one to Duane and kept one to myself, and then Morgan spooned the food into our bowls. It smelled better than anything I had ever smelled before, but that was probably because I was starving. It took every ounce of the little self-control I had to stop myself from wolfing my bowl of beans down as I waited for Morgan and Duane to get their dishes filled so we could eat. Just as I sat down with my hands under my thighs to prevent myself from grabbing the spoon that lay so close to the hot food, a shuffling reached my ears from the right of me.

The man, now with a fresh clean bandage secured around his middle and a blanket draped over him, stood at the bottom of the stairs. Looks like Morgan didn't kill the guy after all. He looked at the three of us before shuffling into the living room where Morgan and Duane had made beds. Although I could not see him, I could hear the man talk to Morgan as Duane and I sat down. I went for my spoon but Duane grabbed my arm and shook his head.

More waiting? _Really?_

"This place," the man said, his gravelly voice slightly muffled through the wall, "It's Fred and Cindy Drake's."

"Never met them." That was Morgan talk for 'I don't care' apparently.

"I've been here. This is their place."

"It was empty when we got here." Morgan replied with a one sided shrug. My grip on the spoon tightened.

My _stomach_ was empty when we got here.

The man shuffled over the windows, which were covered with various blankets and rugs, and made to pull them back.

"Don't do that- they'll see the light." Morgan warned. "There's more of them out there than usual. I never should have fired that gun today. The sound draws them, now they're all over the street. Stupid… using a gun…"

I'll agree with you there…

"It all happened so fast…I didn't think." Morgan took his seat at the head of the table and my stomach growled impatiently again. We could finally eat now that the man of the house had sat down.

"You shot that man today." The guy said, tilting his bearded face to side with the blanket still wrapped around him. He looked like a hairy man-baby in my opinion.

"Man?"

"Weren't no man," Duane shook his head.

"What the hell was that out of your mouth just now?" His father scolded him. Thank God some people still held correct grammar highly.

"It _wasn't_ a man."

"You shot him, in the street," the man said, "Out front. A _man_."

"Mate, you need glasses," I spoke up, wanting this conversation to go quicker so I could freaking eat, "That was a Walker. Come and sit down, so we can all _eat_."

As I keep saying, I was _starving_.

"Sit down," Morgan reiterated to the man after giving me a look, "Before you _fall_ down. Here, eat."

The man sat down across from me, and we both lurched for out spoons to dig in to the golden deliciousness that was baked beans.

"Daddy," I didn't bother hiding rolling my eyes at the kid's words. What _now_, Duane? "Blessing."

I stopped my spoon right before it broke the surface of the beans, and held back a whine as I placed it on the table beside my bowl, the guy doing the same. Morgan took Duane's hand and Duane took mine which was resting on the table. The man looked at Morgan before they joined hands, then he looked to me.

"We're going to be holding hands when we still don't know each other's names." I smirked. "How wayward."

"Rick Grimes." He replied, a hint of an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Eleanor Darnley, at your service." And with that we gingerly joined hands as Morgan said grace.

"Father, we thank thee for this food," _Amen,_ "And thy blessings. We ask you to watch over us in these _crazy_ days, amen."

I didn't even give myself time to mutter 'amen' before I shovelled the beans into my mouth as fast as my wrist could manage. Trust me, even something like baked beans will taste like heaven dipped in multi-coloured sprinkles and coated in the voice of Benedict Cumberbatch if you haven't eaten properly in a couple of days. I was fully aware that I was eating like a pig but if I'm perfectly honest with you I didn't give a flying fuck, and so I let the men converse between themselves as I basked in the holy goodness of a slowly filling stomach.

"Hey, mister," Morgan began, "Do you even know what is going on?"

"I woke up today, in a hospital. Came home, that's all I know."

Like I said, I make accurate speculations.

"But you know about the dead people, right?"

"Yeah, I saw a lot of that. Out on the loading dock, piles in trucks."

"No… not the ones they put down. The ones they didn't. The _Walkers_, like the one I shot today, 'cause he would have ripped into you, try to eat you, take him some flesh at least." Rick's eyes narrowed in confusion at Morgan's words, "But I guess this is the first you're hearing it, I know how it must sound…"

"It sounds like the undead are trying to eat the living…" I mumbled around a mouthful of beans before swallowing, "which is _exactly_ what's happening."

Either they didn't hear my muttering or they chose to ignore it. Probably the latter; there was no need for cynicism right now. But what could I say? I'm a mean, not so lean, wit machine.

"They're out there now, in the street?" Risk asked, a spoonful of beans hovering in front of his mouth.

"Yeah, they get more active after dark sometimes," Morgan informed him, "Maybe it's the cool air or Hell, maybe it's just me firing up that gun today." _That'll do, pig._ "But we'll be fine as long as we stay quiet. Probably wander off by morning."

I leaned back in my chair and sighed once I spooned the last bit of bean out of the bowl and shoved it in my mouth, watching Rick as he tried to take all this crazy information in. Still, he was finding out the _nice_ way, whereas most of us had to discover this new world by ourselves as if our hands were tied behind our backs and we were shoved into a cage of rabid, starving, _undead _dogs.

"Well, listen," Morgan continued, and it was only then that I noticed a golden band around one of his fingers, "One thing I do know: don't you get bit. We saw your bandage and that's what we were afraid of; bites kill you. The fever burns you out, but then after a while… you come back."

"Seen it happen…" Duane piped up from beside me, and I did the maths in my head. The wedding ring, the absence of a woman. Morgan gave a gentle squeeze to his son's arm, and the three males continued eating.

Do you believe that I had been starving now?

The awkward silence was too much though, so I spread out my arms with a fake smile and put on a quite convincing American accent.

"Welcome to Georgia! Here we have: the walking dead!"

* * *

Duane polished off his bowl first, then Rick and Morgan followed shortly after. Morgan asked Duane to collect the bowls and place them in the sink, and his son dutifully followed his orders. Rick and I were shown where we would be sleeping, and it turned out the mattresses were comfier than I thought because as soon as my arse touched the makeshift bed across from Rick, I knew I wasn't going to be getting up anytime soon.

We all reclined on our mattresses, and Duane soon joined Morgan in their double mattress. My bow and quiver were where I left them beside my chosen bed when we dragged an unconscious Rick into the house, and I gave them a proud pat. Wendy and the Girls had helped me survive so far, and I wasn't planning on losing them any time soon.

Yes, I named my bow and arrows, get over it.

A sort of comfortable silence overtook us as we all (I guess it wasn't just me) slipped into our own little worlds and thought about various things. First I thought about the irritating pain in my back, but I couldn't be bothered to even check what it was as all my energy had just been sapped out of me once I lay back on the mattress, but I guess that would happen if you hadn't slept for more than an hour a night for the past month or so.

I looked at Rick across from me who was still wrapped in a blanket, and looked to be in deep thought as he stared off to the side. To the left of me, Duane was drifting off to sleep and I managed to catch the very moment he did. His eyes had fluttered closed with his brows pinched together but they relaxed like his breathing did, slowly and eventually. I doubt that he still had his innocence, but I hoped that somewhere, right at the back of him, Duane still held onto however much of it was left.

It was strange; I was caring for a boy who I had only met not six hours ago and yet here I was, wishing for his survival in this big bad world. I guess it was my sibling instinct kicking in.

"Carl… he your son?" Morgan asked in a murmur, careful not to wake his son.

"He's a little younger than your boy." Rick finally stopped staring at the ground and turned his head towards Morgan.

"Is he with his mum?" I tilted my head at the man-baby.

"I hope so."

"Dad?" Duane mumbled, awaking from his short-lived slumber. "Did you ask him?"

"We got a little bet going," Morgan explained with a smile as he glanced between us, "Your gunshot…My boy says you're a bank robber."

"Yeah, that's me. Deadly as Dillinger- _kapow_," Rick played along with an indulgent smile similar to Morgan's. It reminded me of my father's. I guess all men get born with the father smile. Arthur sometimes smiled at me like that too; a toothy grin full of pride, amusement and love.

"Sheriff's deputy." Rick, or should that be _Sheriff_ Rick, added on a more serious note.

"Uhuh…" Morgan nodded, as if he didn't quite believe him. Suddenly, a car alarm began to blare from outside and Duane shot up in panic. "Hey, it's okay, daddy's here. It's nothing, one of them must've bumped a car."

"You sure?" I asked, raising my eyebrows questioningly at the boarded windows, "It could be anything…" Duane whimpered quietly and I realised I wasn't exactly helping. "Yeah, they must have walked into a car or something, the stupid things."

"Happened once before," Morgan nodded, "Went off for a few minutes. Get the light, Duane."

The oil lamp was dimmed, and I found the strength to stretch my arm out and dim the lamp beside me. The two men clambered up and stepped towards the boarded window almost silently, and Morgan peeled back a small section of blanket to peek outside. I myself was too tired and weary to get up, so I watched their faces as closely as I could in the darkness for any signs of incoming danger.

"It's the blue one, down the street," Morgan stepped back to let Rick peep through, "Same one as last time. I think we're okay."

_We better be, because I'm too tired to do _anything_ right now._

"That noise…will it bring more of them?" Rick asked, and Duane creeped his way towards the window like a freaking ninja. I didn't even hear him get up; I swear this kid's a hobbit or something.

"Nothing to do about it now," the sheriff was answered, "Just have to wait 'em out till morning."

"She's here." Duane gasped, making me sit up straight and let my hand linger over my Wendy.

"Don't look, get away from the windows," Morgan insisted to his son, "I said go, come on!"

Duane ran from the window and flung himself to his mattress, loud sobs leaving him. Morgan immediately comforted his son, urging him to be quiet.

"Who? What is it?" I asked Rick as he backed away from the window and shuffled towards the door, but he only gave me a look that said 'I'm going to find out' and he continued past me.

"It's okay, here," Morgan grabbed a pillow and used it to muffle Duane's sobs, "You remember? Shh…"

I heard the door handle rattle and my hand closed around my bow, my other sliding an arrow out. Rick slowly backed into the room again and lowered a flattened hand at my bow. I frowned and paused my actions for a moment before pushing the arrow back into the quiver and leaning back against the wall, my bow still in my lap.

"She, uh… she died in the other room on that bed… Nothing I can do about it… that fever, man… her skin gave off heat like a _furnace_… I should have put her down, I should have put her down, I know that but… you know what… I just didn't have it in me… She's the mother of my child."

_Oh._

I lowered my stare to my hands in my lap, absentmindedly picking out the dirt underneath my fingernails. Morgan's emotional anecdote made me think of my own family, something I had put off for a while now in an attempt to save me from the pain. What they were doing? Where they were, if they were still alive? Was Arthur okay?

The door handle squeaked as it continued to turn. Sighing, I lay down properly and turned away from the boys, hugging my quiver to my chest. I didn't let myself cry- there wasn't time for that anymore- so I focused on ridding my mind of any gory situations my family could be in, my jaw clenching with the effort. I was more exhausted than I thought, and before I knew it I was out like a light.

* * *

**So there it is! Hopefully you liked it, and if you did I'd love to hear what you thought! What were your favourite bits or lines?  
If you didn't like it, then I'd still like to know why! :)**

**So please, review, favourite or follow because it shows me whether or not you liked it and if I should write anymore!**

\- **LMWH ^.^**


	2. A Proper Elf

**Yo finally here's chapter 2! **

**Special thanks to blackcat711 for being the first to favourite and follow, and thank you to gaaralover1989 for being the first to review! (And in reply: yes, there'll be plenty of lotr references ;) along with references from other fandoms too! :D)**

**Well, here it is – I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"_And have you got your phone?"_

"_Arthur! How else do you think I'm talking to you now, you nutter?"_

"_Sorry sis, I just worry. You're so far away."_

_A fond smile curved my lips as I walked through the airport at Georgia, my mobile pressed to my ear._

"_I know, I know. You could have come with me, Arth."_

_I heard a huff of hair through the phone and knew that he was laughing. "You know I'm not into that stuff as much as you, Elle. I would be bored."_

"_Dude, there would've been really hot guys at the convention, __**dressed up**__, too."_

"_Eh," I could picture his trademark single-sided shrug in my head, "I'm not really looking for anything, to be honest."_

"_You have to get over Connor, he was an utter twat."_

_I heard my twin sigh on the other end of the phone. His last 'boyfriend' had cheated on him and, like me, Arthur didn't take well to being betrayed. But where I reacted aggressively, he would always be passive about it. A tingle over the airport PA address caught my attention, and the information boards changed to show that all flights had been cancelled. Everyone in the airport groaned and I muttered a curse under my breath._

"_Eleanor? Everything alright?"_

"_Yeah, it's just all the flights have cocked up so I'm gonna go find out what's happening."_

"_Okay, ring me when you know what's going on, yeah?"_

"_Of course. See you later, Arse-ur."_

"_Bye Elea-whore."_

_Our sibling love makes you want to squee with emotion, I know._

_I stuffed my phone into my messenger bag which was acting as my hand luggage, and dragged my suitcase over to the customer service desk hoping to get some answers. Some of the other fliers gave me funny looks but I kept my head up. They've obviously never seen an awesome cosplay before. I got even more surprised looks as well when I started talking, so I upped my accent to the poshest I could do._

"_Excuse me, miss. What is occurring with the aeroplanes?" _

_The attendant must have thought I was royalty or something because she sat up straighter and seemed more inclined to talk to me than the rather impolite fat American man who was before me._

"_I'm sorry ma'am, but I don't get the reasons, just the notifications."_

_At this point, I let out a dramatic sigh, "Alright then. But please do tell me if there are any developments." Wow, Eleanor you're going all out on the accent there. The lady behind the desk nodded in reply and I went to find a seat in the middle in the middle of the airport. Wedged between a snobbish suited business man and a woman with twelve kids (alright, maybe it was more like two but they made enough noise for twelve), I went to ring Arthur back, but each time I tried the call wouldn't connect despite there being a full bar signal._

_Confused, I turned to the business man to ask if he had the same problem, but it wasn't a man. A Walker's revolting face was staring right back at me with its right eye dangling out of its socket, and rotten lips that curled back to reveal dirtied yellow teeth. I screamed and made to move backwards, anywhere to get away from this… thing, but my back didn't hit anything. I kept falling back and further back with the Walker always close in front of me, never hitting the ground but never putting distance between myself and the monster that gnashed its teeth in eagerness. Somewhere along the fall, my scream had died in my throat._

_Still plummeting, the few scant inches separating the undead man from my neck gradually closed, and the last thing I felt was the edges of its incisors graze against my skin._

I woke up the next morning with a gasping start, before I realised I was safe inside the four walls of a house with blocked doors and windows. Rick was now dressed in a white t-shirt and blue trousers, but was giving me another weird look. I glanced to Duane, whose father was taking off the blockades of the door with a hammer, and he too gave me an odd yet curious look.

Oh God, I hadn't _dribbled_, had I?

I wiped the back of my hand under my mouth, and pulled it back to see a streak of what looked like pale foundation on it.

_Oh. My. God._

So let me tell you a little something- I didn't come over from London to Atlanta just in time to enjoy the end of the world, I originally came for a convention. In which there was a Tolkien panel, in which I also cosplayed.

As female Legolas.

It had been a whole month since crap hit the fan and I was _still_ in my freaking costume without even realising or remembering it. I had more things to worry about, you know? Like dead people walking around and eating noses for their breakfast.

"Oh God," I murmured before leaping up and racing upstairs to the bathroom, my joints clicking in protest. I shut the door behind me and braced myself on the edge of the sink before I would look up to the mirror in front of me. I hadn't seen my reflection since this whole thing started, and I was already picturing myself with dark heavy bags and a haggard face.

With a slightly shaky breath, I dragged my eyes upwards and was met with a pair of unnatural blue irises. If this outbreak ever got under control, I was going to personally thank the individual who made my contact lenses that had lasted all this time without irritating me. Pointed ears poked out from beneath silvery blonde hair, and I felt surprised that my prosthetic ears and wig had lasted all this time.

The eye contacts came out first and my regular dark eyes became irritated, as if just remembering I had the contacts in brought all the irritation that should have been on at once. I carefully removed my Legolas wig to reveal my light brown hair, and then my Elf ears were taken off next. I dumped the objects on the closed toilet seat beside the sink, and took in my face again. There was a smudge where I had wiped some make up off just a few minutes ago, and marks where the foundation met my hairline.

Twisting the tap, I let the water run and turn cold before filling my cupped hands with it. The Georgia sun wasn't something I was used too, and cool water on my face and neck was greatly appreciated. I scrubbed any remaining make up from my face and tilted the mirror downward to reflect my clothing.

My dark leather boots were scuffed around the edges, and the dusky grey jeans I wore had dirt dusted on the knees. My hunter-green jerkin was still relatively clean though, and the silvery-blue long-sleeved shirt underneath was too, along with the leather vambraces I had on.

I twisted the tap to cease the water once I realised it was still running and turned to leave the bathroom, but something caught my eye. The wig, fake ears and contacts were still on the toilet seat and I was faced with the sudden decision of taking them or leaving them. What would I need them for? The contacts would be no good without solution now, and the wig and ears were of no use.

But I still couldn't find the heart to abandon them, not when simply looking at them caused memories of when I bought them to float into my mind. No, I couldn't leave them; they were the little things I had that connected me to home now. Placing the ears inside the head of the wig and bundling it up, I swung open the door and jogged down the stairs to see that the front door was free of any boards.

Rick the Hairy Man-Baby had a weird looking visor thing on his head and he nodded a greeting to me before taking a double take. Morgan and Duane did the same.

"What? Is there still something on my face?"

"You look," Rick glanced between Morgan and me, "…different."

"You do know I'm not _actually_ an Elf, right?"

"Aren't elves supposed to be short?" Duane frowned.

"No no no, I'm a _proper_ Elf, the Lord of The Rings type- well _I'm_ not an Elf but the guy I was dressing up as is."

"And who's that?"

"Legolas."

"Aren't they a toy?" Duane questioned doubtfully.

Lord, give me strength.

"That's _LEGO._ I am Lego_las._" There was an awkward silence in which Rick continued to frown curiously at me, Morgan was biting back a smile and Duane had a look of innocent uncertainty. "You know what?" I threw my hands into the air, "It doesn't matter. What are we all packed up for?"

"We're heading out to the station Rick was based at," Morgan answered me, "Says there could still be guns there…"

I just shrugged in agreement as I walked over to where I had slept last night and shoved my wig into my messenger bag, picking up Wendy and securely buckling my quiver over my shoulder and chest. "Sounds good to me."

After Rick had finished giving a Walker outside the house a hearty face massage with a baseball bat, we began the short journey to his house to retrieve the keys to his police station. Morgan had a quick cry about photo albums once we were at Rick's, and Duane gave the smart suggestion of the Sheriff's family being in Atlanta.

"Why would they be there?" I asked, "It was completely run over when I was there."

"A refugee centre. Huge, they said, before the broadcast stopped," Morgan replied, "Military protection, food, shelter… They told people to go there. Said to be safest." Nice one American government, you set up that centre too little too late I'm afraid.

"Plus they got that disease place," Duane put in helpfully.

"A Centre for Disease Control?" I tested, to be sure of what he meant.

"Yeah," Morgan nodded, "Said they were working on how to solve this thing."

Rick let a small smile slip on his lips before stepping out the kitchen area, popping open a cupboard and jingling something about.

No innuendo intended.

* * *

Another short trip after leaving Rick's house, and the Sheriff's Deputy had led us to his police station which was thankfully empty of anyone and any Walkers. We had to use torches in order to actually navigate through the derelict building, and we all followed Rick to a locker room (where the lights worked, thankfully). Morgan, Duane and I watched a shower head hopefully as Rick carefully twisted the tap on. The sweet sound of pressurised water filled my ears, making me grin in delight and relief.

"Gas and light have been down for maybe a month," Morgan shrugged, sparing Rick a glance from the beautiful running water.

"Station's got its own propane system," the Sheriff put his hand under the water, and a delighted smile stretched on his face, "Pilot's still on."

You know what that means?

_Hot. Fucking. Water_.

After a short debate of who was going to shower first, I let the guys go first, saying 'You all stink to high heaven, and it takes me a while to take all this costume off anyways' and then here I was, sitting in a small dressing room listening to the boys enjoy the bliss of a hot shower.

"Oh my Lord!" came Morgan's voice muffled through the door.

"Hot wa-_ter_!" Duane whooped.

"That feels good, right?"

I chuckled as the stifled sound of Duane singing to a funky tune about water came through the door, and I realised that they would be finished soon so I'd need to be ready for my turn. I unlaced my vambraces and placed them on a shelf protruding from the wall beside my bow, and then I unbuckled my quiver from around my chest and counted the arrows within it.

There were eleven arrows, and I hoped they wouldn't run out too quickly; I had already lost five in the month that I was alone, so maybe they wouldn't go so hastily with more people.

I turned my mind away from the thought of being left with no arrows, and focused on the task at hand: unbuckling my belt, removing my twin long-knives from my back (which had been the cause of my discomfort last night), shrugging off the quite frankly heavy jerkin and toeing my boots off of my feet. I was left in my light blue shirt, grey jeans and Spock socks.

They were _cool_, okay? They had a featureless Spock face on them with the eyebrows, block fringe and Vulcan ears- it's not like anyone at the convention would have seen them anyways.

A cautious knock threw me from my imaginings, and I realised the sound of showers had decreased. I opened the door to Duane standing outside with a towel wrapped around his waist and a bundle of clothes under his arm.

"Rick said I could come in here to get changed," he said as if he needed a reason for his interruption.

"Knock yourself out, kiddo," I patted his shoulder as I slid past him, turning backwards to point a finger at him, "You touch any of my stuff, and you'll regret it, m'kay? That stuff was expensive."

"Yes ma'am," he nodded looking a little frightened, and I smirked as I twiddled my fingers in a wave as he shut the door.

I walked in to the shower-room to see Rick and Morgan sitting beside each other in towels, talking like two old men in a sauna.

I had to shake my head to get rid of _that_ image.

"Atlanta sounds like a good deal, safer anyway. People." Said Rick, leaning a forearm on his knee to look at Morgan properly.

"That's where we were heading," Morgan replied as I walked behind them and cast a look over my shoulder before stripping down to my underwear.

"You look, and you lose an eye." I warned, and Rick immediately stared at the wall in front of him along with Morgan as they continued talking. What can I say? I instil fear in the hearts of men. Just call me Smaug.

"Things got crazy, man, like you won't believe," Morgan carried on as I finished undressing and got into the shower. "The panic…streets weren't fit to be on, and then, well…my wife couldn't travel, not with our herd, so we had to find a place to lay low. And then, after she died, we just stayed hunkered down. I guess we just froze in place."

It was sad to hear about Morgan's story, but any pity I had was completely directed to my skin which had been deprived of hot water for one whole month. I grabbed a flannel from the side and scrubbed myself red raw, making sure to remove any dirt from all of my pores; it'd be a long time since I would have another shower like this one, and I planned on savouring every last drop that came out of the head.

That's _not_ a euphemism, naughty.

Rick asked whether Morgan was planning on moving on, but Morgan's reply was drowned out by the squeak of the water tap as I turned the shower off. I grabbed a towel that was draped over the short tiled wall dividing the showers, and wrapped it around my body.

Duane entered the shower room now fully-clothed, and I returned to the changing room to leave Rick and Morgan to change back into their clothes. Everything I had left in there was how I left it, and it didn't take me long to get back into my hunting greens before going back to the shower room.

* * *

Rick, now dressed in a Sheriff's uniform and clean shaven (goodbye Hairy Man-Baby), unlocked the gun locker of the station with a loud clang. Multiple guns hung on the wall, with black bags and ammo boxes placed on shelves.

"A lot of it's gone missing," he said once we were inside, reaching for a rifle.

"Looks pretty empty," I put in.

Shut up, I'm helpful.

"Daddy, can I learn to shoot? I'm old enough," Duane asked, stuttering a little bit.

"Oh oh! Can I learn too?" I looked to Rick with a grin that was more childlike than I cared to admit. Having guns wasn't the norm in England, so I thought I might as well get as many new experiences in as I could before the world went back to normal (or remained the same).

"Hell yes you're gonna learn. We gotta do it carefully, teach you to respect the weapon."

I still stared at Rick expectedly and he finally nodded his consent. I pumped my fist into the air.

"That's right, it's not a toy." The no-longer Hairy Man-Baby glanced from me to Duane, "You pull the trigger, you have to mean it. Always remember that, Duane."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, Dad."

Alright, so maybe it was a _little_ bit immature for me roll my eyes at a Sheriff, but it seemed that Rick found it amusing before a small amount of sadness entered his eyes.

Oh God. Eleanor, you complete and utter twat.

What if Carl would reply to him like that sometimes and I had reminded him of his son?

"I'm sorry-" I stammered before being cut off.

"It's fine," he promised, and handed the rifle to Morgan, "Take that one. Nothing fancy, scope's accurate." Next Rick turned and picked up a handgun, offering it to me handle first.

"Here, this should do."

Gingerly, I reached out and took the gun from his hand in awe.

You would not _believe_ what type of gun it was.

The metal looked to be silvery, and the hilt was made of familiar patterned ivory.

That's right; I had just been given Dean bloody Winchester's gun, given to him by his father.

My mind worked at the speed of a hummingbird recollecting the badass scenes in Supernatural where Dean used his gun, and I thought about what I could do now that I had one just like it.

I could save people, hunt things…

The family business, bitch.

* * *

I helped Duane stuff as many ammo boxes as we could into some gun bags while Rick and Morgan picked out the guns they wanted from whatever was left in the locker. I had been given a holster for my gun that could be strapped around my thigh, which was where my Winchester gun currently resided. It felt weird and tight around my right leg, but I knew I'd soon get used to it. Not to mention it looked _awesome_.

After pretty much clearing out what was left of the whole locker, we followed Rick out of a fire exit and left the building.

"Conserve your ammo." Rick told us as we climbed the steps by the exit, "Goes faster than you think, especially at target practice."

We reached a police car and Morgan asked his son to take their gun bag to their car while he and I remained with Rick.

"You sure you won't come along?" The sheriff asked, taking off his hat.

"A few more days…" Morgan replied, "By then Duane will know how to shoot and I won't be so rusty."

"Eleanor?"

"Hmm?" I was brought out of my observation of the interior of the police car and the controls on the dashboard while combing my damp hair with my fingers by Rick's question.

"Where are you planning on going?"

I opened my mouth to answer but realised I didn't actually _have_ an answer. Would I stay with Morgan and Duane? Or would I go with Rick to Atlanta? Or, would I leave both of them and do what I had been doing all along; never staying in one place for more than three days and robbing anyone I came across if I had to?

From what Morgan had said it seemed that he and his son were going to stay at the house for a number of days whereas Rick would be moving about, and I had rather gotten used to being around people that I wasn't stealing from.

My choice had presented itself it seemed.

"Umm, well, I'd like to, if you don't mind of course, go with you, Rick. Atlanta seems like a good deal and I'd like to keep moving."

Rick nodded with the corner of his mouth turned up into a small smile, "It'd be a pleasure."

Quickly, Rick spun around and opened the car door, retrieving a walkie-talkie.

"You got one battery." He said, tuning it up before handing it to Morgan, "I'll turn mine on a few minutes every day at dawn. You get up there, that's how you find us."

"You think ahead." Morgan said, moving to pack the walkie into a bag.

"Well, people can't risk it." I shook my head, "Not nowadays."

"Listen, one thing." He said to the both of us, "They may not seem like much one at a time, but in a group all riled up and hungry… man, you watch your ass."

"You too." Rick replied just as Duane returned from the truck and stood by his father, who took Rick's hand and shook it.

"You're a good man, Rick. I hope you'll find your wife and son."

"Be seeing you, Duane." Rick bent down to the kid's height, "Take care of your old man."

"Thanks for yesterday, Morgan." I nodded, crossing my arms awkwardly. "And sorry for, y'know…"

"Aiming an arrow at my head?"

"That's the one."

"Water under the bridge. You keep up the work with your bow, it'll come in handy."

"Aye-aye, captain," I flicked my first two fingers away from my head in a salute, "Hey Duane, you've got a mean swing from what I saw with that shovel yesterday. Keep it up."

The kid nodded with a smile but his father's own quickly fell from his face as he stared behind me and Rick. We turned simultaneously to look behind us, seeing a Walker in a stained police uniform push against the chain-link fence.

"Leon Basset?" Rick murmured, "Didn't think much of him. Careless and dumb, but… can't leave him like this."

I nodded in understanding (after internally comprehending the fact _this_ Leon was less fortunate in the zombie invasion than Resident Evil Leon), taking a step forward as I nocked an arrow and aimed at Basset's head. I had just pulled the arrow back far enough to kiss it when Rick stepped beside me with his hands on his hips, which were cocked to one side. Sassy.

"No." He stared at the undead officer, who was shoving everything he had against the fence. And when I say everything, I _mean_ everything. Even his _face_. "This is something I have to do."

Not questioning his dramatic character develop-y moment, I just shrugged and let the arrow gently slide out before pushing it back into my quiver.

"Y'know they'll hear the shot." Morgan reminded the sheriff, who nodded in consideration.

"Let's not be here when they show up."

At that Morgan ushered his son, who gave one last little wave to me and inadvertently broke my heart with his adorableness, towards their car as Rick strode to the fence raising his Colt. I began to remove my quiver and long knives, placing them in the backseat of the patrol car. In the background I could hear Morgan start the engine of their vehicle right before Rick's gunshot rang out. Leon Basset clung to the fence a few moments longer after taking a bullet to his brain. It unnerved me a little seeing a Walker not go down immediately after having its brain destroyed, so I shrugged off the shudder that crawled up my spine and got into the police car, collapsing into the passenger seat after almost getting in the driver's seat accidentally.

It's going to take some time for me to get used to everything being the opposite here.

A few moments later Rick got in beside me, dumping his soil coloured hat and coat of the same shade in the backseat.

"Road trip!" I raised a fist meekly into the air, not particularly looking forward to going into a city.

"Road trip," he replied with a small smirk, turning the keys to ignition as I buckled my seatbelt in. Rick reversed back before changing gear and driving forward towards the exit after Morgan's lead. My right leg bobbed up and down rapidly as I eyed the controls for the sirens on the dashboard.

"Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"This is going to sound really childish, but _please_ can I whoop the siren?" I gave my best kicked puppy face, "Please?"

"Of course," he chuckled, pointing to a black button, "Press this one once when we pull out." The sheriff instructed, returning his right hand to a 2 o'clock position on the wheel. My finger hovered impatiently over the button as counted down the seconds until we pulled out of the compound. Morgan honked his horn in valediction as he turned to the right, and in reply I pressed the siren button.

_Twice_.

I'm such a rebel, I know.

* * *

**Sooooo whaddya think? Are y'all enjoying the style of writing? I don't normally write in 1****st**** person but I thought it suited this story best.**

**For any of the non-Lord of the Rings fans out there, this is what Legolas wears (just so you have a better visual than my writing provided xD): **** lotr/Elf/Legolas/Leg_8534_ **

**Oh, and any of you that are watching season 5 at the moment, tell me what you think of the series! I'm personally loving it, and I'd love to hear what you think! :D**

**As always, favourite and follow if you like the story, and if you really liked it (or didn't!) then leave a review to tell me :)**

**LMWH ^.^**


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